At the Church Gate

Although I enter not,
Yet round about the spot
    Ofttimes I hover:
And near the sacred gate,
With longing eyes I wait,
    Expectant of her.
The Minster bell tolls out
Above the city's rout,
    And noise and humming:
They've hush'd the Minster bell:
The organ 'gins to swell:
    She's coming, she's coming!
My lady comes at last,
Timid, and stepping fast,
    And hastening hither,
With modest eyes downcast:
She comes--she's here--she's past--
    May heaven go with her!
Kneel, undisturb'd, fair Saint!
Pour out your praise or plaint
    Meekly and duly;
I will not enter there,
To sully your pure prayer
    With thoughts unruly.
But suffer me to pace
Round the forbidden place,
    Lingering a minute
Like outcast spirits who wait
And see through heaven's gate
    Angels within it.

• About William Makepeace Thackeray